


To Have Bitten Off the Matter With a Smile

by 27dragons



Series: The Love Song of J. Buchanan Barnes [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Rimming, Sub Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 10:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky trudged homeward through the pink light of dawn, head down and hands hanging limp, like the other men coming off the night shift at the factory. His eyes burned from straining to see in the dim light and his legs ached from being on his feet for hours, but he had money in his pocket and he was heading home, so there really wasn't any reason for anything but smiling.</p>
<p>Hell, between the two jobs and Steve picking up that post over at the printer's, they were actually starting to get ahead a little bit. Another couple of months and they'd have that last big doctor's bill paid off, and then maybe Bucky could drop the factory job.</p>
<p>But for now, it was his day off. He had nowhere to go for the rest of the day, or tonight either, and didn't have to be at his other job until tomorrow morning at nine. And that meant... Anticipation shivered down Bucky's spine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Have Bitten Off the Matter With a Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [面带微笑将烦忧啃掉](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356883) by [hamLock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamLock/pseuds/hamLock)



> Time out for a flashback. :-)

Bucky trudged homeward through the pink light of dawn, head down and hands hanging limp, like the other men coming off the night shift at the factory. His eyes burned from straining to see in the dim light and his legs ached from being on his feet for hours, but he had money in his pocket and he was heading home, so there really wasn't any reason for anything but smiling.

Hell, between the two jobs and Steve picking up that post over at the printer's, they were actually starting to get ahead a little bit. Another couple of months and they'd have that last big doctor's bill paid off, and then maybe Bucky could drop the factory job.

But for now, it was his day off. He had nowhere to go for the rest of the day, or tonight either, and didn't have to be at his other job until tomorrow morning at nine. And that meant... Anticipation shivered down Bucky's spine.

He supposed he ought to feel shame and disgust -- they were not merely inverts and queers, but perverts as well -- but it wasn't like what they did hurt anyone but themselves. And oh, the feel of Steve's hand on his neck, pushing him to his knees, those thin fingers curling around Bucky's throat or grabbing fistfuls of Bucky's hair... Steve's chest pressed against Bucky's naked back, knobby knee pushing Bucky's legs apart... Steve had tied him to the bed one day last summer, turned him into nothing but a plaything, a toy to be used and then forgotten, acted like it didn't even matter if Bucky got off or not, and Bucky'd had to keep his cuffs fastened for the next three days to hide the way his wrists had been rubbed raw, and just _thinking_ about it was making Bucky hard again now.

If God couldn't understand that what they had was a slice of Heaven, then Bucky would make his peace with going to Hell for it, because he wouldn't give it up, not until he had to.

Knowing what waited at the end of his trek had made all the exhaustion and aches -- well, not disappear, but it made them all worth it. Turned them into an offering, like his kisses or his body or the welts that raised when Steve took a belt to him. It was all for Steve, and for Steve, Bucky could bear anything.

The sun was fully up by the time Bucky made it to their street. He wanted to run up the stairs to their apartment, but that would look odd after a night's shift in the factory, so he made himself walk up normally, wishing old Mrs. Peters a cheery good morning as he always did when she cracked her door to glare at him suspciously. He let himself into the apartment and hung his cap on its nail next to Steve's, and started humming as he shucked off his shirt.

Steve wasn't in the kitchen, which was odd. Usually when Bucky was on night shift, Steve was up and had a pot of coffee heating on the stove when Bucky got home, his hands wrapped around his chipped mug to warm them while he waited. Bucky would pour the rest into the other mug, careful not to let the grounds escape the pot, and then make a joke about needing some sugar for the coffee before leaning in to steal a kiss.

Well, it was Steve's day off, too; he could sleep in if he wanted, Bucky thought, trying not to pout about it.

Then Bucky thought about Steve maybe waking up and deciding to wait for him in bed, and that was enough to soothe the hint of sting and get his blood pumping. He didn't need coffee to wake up with that in mind, so he just washed his hands and splashed a little water on his face and neck, and headed for the bedroom.

Steve _was_ still in bed, as it turned out, but not the way Bucky had been hoping for. He rolled over when Bucky opened the door, just enough to crane his head around and squint in Bucky's direction. "That you, Buck?" he mumbled, and immediately launched into a violent coughing fit.

"Oh, hell." Bucky took the two long steps between the door and the bed and slid onto the mattress, lifting Steve up so Bucky could sit behind him and prop him up. "Breathe for me, Stevie, come on."

Steve's crooked spine curled against Bucky's chest, and Bucky swore he could feel every knobby bit poking into him with each harsh cough. "What happened? You were all right when I left last night, weren't you?" Bucky narrowed his eyes, even though Steve couldn't see it. "Weren't you?" Damn it, if Steve had been lying to Bucky again...

"I was," Steve protested, half-choking on the words. Bucky wrapped both arms around Steve's chest, holding him up through another coughing fit. "I was fine," Steve said again when it was past and he was panting for breath. "Dunno what happened. Went to bed like usual and woke up a bit later all hot an' sweaty an' coughin'."

Bucky felt for Steve's face. He was warm, but not so hot Bucky would have to call the doctor.

Steve pushed his hand off impatiently. "Get off," he rasped. "'S just a cold and a cough."

"Can't blame me for checking," Bucky said.

"Hell I can't. You're worse'n Ma was, fussin' over every little thing."

"Someone ought to," Bucky responded, keeping it mild.

Steve tried to pull away, but Bucky kept his hold firm. "Don't even try it," he told Steve severely.

"Who's in charge here?" Steve snapped.

"I am, right now," Bucky shot back. "You'll do yourself harm if you try to get up now."

Steve grumbled. "Don't gotta hold me up," he muttered. He was trying for sullen, but it just came out sleepy. "I'll stay put, I promise. We can both lay down and get some sleep."

"I can sleep just fine like this," Bucky said. It was stretching the truth a bit, but if he let Steve lay back down and wheeze for each breath, he wouldn't sleep at all. He rearranged the pillow at his back and adjusted his position to something slightly more comfortable, tucking Steve into the vee of his legs. "You breathe better when you're propped up a bit. Don't even try to lie to me about that."

"Yeah, but--"

"Stop your fussing and let me get some shuteye."

Steve started coughing again, and Bucky held him upright, letting him brace himself on the wall of Bucky's arms until the fit had passed. "You're the one who's making it hard on yourself, you lug," Steve rasped.

"Shut up," Bucky said, tipping his head back against the wall. "Try'na sleep, here."

Steve grumbled a little more, but eventually laid his head back against Bucky's chest, and a little while after that, he relaxed into a fitful sleep.

Bucky closed his eyes and matched his breathing to Steve's, and let himself drop into a doze.

***

When Bucky opened his eyes again the soft golden light in the little room suggested that it was after noon. He was alone on the bed, and had apparently been alone there long enough to have scooted down the mattress to stretch out properly.

"The hell happened to staying put?" he demanded without bothering to look around. He pushed up on one elbow, groggily swinging his legs off the edge of the bed.

"Had to take a piss," Steve said, his low voice carrying easily from the kitchen. "When I came back you were" --he paused to cough-- "were slumped sideways, taking up the whole damn bed. Figured I could sit up for a while."

Bucky stretched and stood up and then stretched again. "Should'a woke me up."

"You need rest, too, you know," Steve said. "Besides, sitting up's better for the cough. You want some tea? We've got maybe a quarter-tin left."

"No," Bucky said firmly. "That's for your throat."

Bucky came into the kitchen to see Steve sitting at the table, a book open in front of him, the dregs of a cup of tea at his elbow. He looked up at Bucky with an unreadable expression, then pushed his chair back from the table and gestured at the floor in front of him.

Bucky stepped close, right between Steve's thighs, but didn't kneel like Steve was telling him to. Instead he put the back of his wrist against Steve's forehead, bending over to check Steve's eyes for burst blood vessels. He was still a little warm, not too bad, but the cough was starting to sound wet.

"Bucky," Steve warned.

"Nope," Bucky said, loose and easy. "Y'ain't up for it."

"How often do we both get a day off at the same time?" Steve pointed out.

"The stars will align again," Bucky said philosophically. "We can just relax today."

"Buck, c'mon. We've both been looking forward to--"

"Hey," Bucky interrupted. "I'm sayin' no, and that's that. You're still sick. My turn to take care of you."

Steve's mouth scrunched up in disgust, but Bucky couldn't miss the way his eyelids fluttered in relief. Even more tellingly, he stopped arguing about it. "All right, if you're gonna be a jerk about it."

"That's me," Bucky agreed. "You can whip me for it later if it makes you feel better, but for now, punk, you need to be back in bed."

"Your orders are boring," Steve grumbled a little later, as Bucky was pulling the blanket up over him.

"Have to be," Bucky said reasonably. "If I gave you good orders, you'd want to switch out more often."

Bucky sat on the side of the bed, petting Steve's hair soothingly as he dropped off. Protests aside, it didn't take long. Bucky didn't move for a while after that. For all they were quick to tumble into bed together, Steve didn't often tolerate Bucky acting fond, so on the rare occasions it was allowed, Bucky took full advantage.

Eventually, though, he heaved himself upright and went into the kitchen. He checked their cash fund in the cookie jar and did some quick figuring, then stuffed a couple of dollars into his pocket and grabbed his hat off its hook.

By the time Steve woke up a couple of hours later, Bucky had been to the market and come back with half a chicken and a whole bag of vegetables that the grocer had let him have for cheap because they had started to turn. Bucky had trimmed out the bad spots and dumped everything in their biggest cookpot to boil up into soup. He wished he had a sprig of thyme to season it with -- his Ma'd always sworn by garlic and thyme for a cold -- but few cracked peppercorns would have to do for flavor.

Steve shuffled into the kitchen, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, and leaned against Bucky's side at the stove. He took the spoon from Bucky's hand and tasted the broth. "Wants salt," he said with a yawn, and shuffled over to the table. He started to cough again, but managed to suppress it this time, which was probably a good sign. His hair and face were damp with sweat, which was another.

Bucky added salt to the pot. "Feeling better?"

Steve grunted and shrugged. "Guess so. Fever broke, anyway." He let the blanket fall from his shoulders and leaned his elbows on the table in a way that probably had his Ma rolling in her grave. "You should go out tonight."

Bucky snorted a laugh, not bothering to turn around from where he was fishing bones out of the soup with a slotted spoon.

"I'm not kidding," Steve said. "I'm not sick enough to be a good excuse to keep you home. Folks're gonna start talking."

"Folks're gonna talk anyhow," Bucky pointed out. "It's what folks do."

"Buck, I'm serious. You haven't been out for weeks."

Steve sounded so grave that Bucky gave up and looked at him. "You're really gonna push this?"

"I am."

Bucky thought Steve's little jutting jaw of stubbornness was about the cutest thing ever, though he wisely kept that opinion to himself. "You eat _two_ bowls of soup," he bargained, " _and_ you go to bed on time."

Steve glared, but it was a mark of both his determination and his lingering illness that he just nodded. "Fine. Gimme a damn bowl, then, and go wash up so you don't kill the girls with your stink."

***

Bucky had been sure not to stay out too late since he had to be at work at nine, but when Steve started moving around on the bed, he didn't feel like he'd gotten nearly enough sleep.

He whined wordlessly and rolled onto his stomach, pulling his pillow over his head.

Steve didn't say anything, just clambered over Bucky from his usual spot next to the wall and padded out of the room.

Oh, maybe Steve just needed to take a piss. Bucky thought about lifting his head to check the time, but it seemed like an awful lot of work. Steve would poke him like usual when it was time to get up, right? And he was still warm and sleepy...

Steve pushed at Bucky's shoulder, not hard. "Shove over," he mumbled. Bucky hadn't heard him coming back. Must've gone back to sleep.

"Mm," Bucky grunted from under his pillow. Steve pushed at Bucky again, but Bucky flat refused to move. Steve wasn't strong enough to physically roll Bucky over, not when he was already flat on his belly like this.

With an irritated huff, Steve climbed up on top of Bucky and used Bucky's back like a mattress, his scratchy cheek pressed between Bucky's shoulder blades, his bony arms flopping down Bucky's sides to rest on either side, his hips right on the curve of Bucky's ass, legs pushing between Bucky's so his knees could rest on the bed.

Bucky wondered if that was supposed to irritate him into moving, but he didn't want to muster the energy to ask. He did widen his legs a little to make room for Steve's, and then let the warm dark of sleep claim him again.

When he woke up again later he was feeling better rested. And horny, though that wasn't too unusual a state to wake up in.

The unusual part was the bit where Steve was still laying on top of him, wide awake now and licking and biting his way down between Bucky's shoulders. Steve's cock was half-hard, too, lined up right along Bucky's crack. That would've gone a long way toward explaining Bucky's state, if it had needed any explaining.

"Nnnf?" Bucky managed.

"Mm, you're up," Steve muttered. "'Bout time."

"More ways 'n one," Bucky said, which was about as clever as he could be expected to be when his eyes hadn't even opened yet.

Steve pinched Bucky's ass right in the tender fold at the bottom to let him know how that line had gone down, but kept kissing and sucking and nibbling at Bucky's back after he'd settled down from his yelp, so it hadn't been _too_ bad.

"Guess you're feelin' better," Bucky said, feeling rather more awake now. He started to push up on his arms to check the time, but Steve swatted at his thigh, impatient.

"Don't move," Steve ordered.

" _Lots_ better," Bucky amended, sinking back down and pillowing his head on his arms. "Gotta be at work at nine," he said then, just in case somehow Steve'd forgot.

"Yep," Steve acknowledged, his breath hot against Bucky's back, and that was all Bucky cared about. Steve was pretty conscientious about not making Bucky late for work, not without a better reason than a couple sticks of wood.

Pretty soon, Steve had worked far enough down far enough that his cock wasn't rubbing against Bucky's ass anymore. Bucky could guess pretty well what Steve was leading up (or rather down) to, but it still seemed like a step in the wrong direction, so Bucky complained about it until Steve pinched again, a little harder this time, and that gave Bucky something to focus on until Steve's lips and tongue and teeth started making their way over the curve of Bucky's ass.

Bucky dragged the pillow back over his head when that started, because there was no mistaking how much sound traveled through the walls, and there was no shutting Bucky up when he got good and hot like Steve was making him now.

He tried to keep his voice low, just a whisper, but he knew that wasn't going to last long.

Steve was kneading at Bucky like bread dough, pinching the skin up so he could bite and suck and leave little round bruises -- _knowing_ , the little shithead, that Bucky would be sitting on a stool for most of the day, and every time Bucky moved those bruises would sting and ache and remind Bucky just who, exactly, owned Bucky's ass.

And that wasn't even the worst of it, not yet. The worst of it was that every once in a while, Steve would lick a slow stripe right up the middle of Bucky's crack, pushing Bucky's ass cheeks together so he couldn't accidentally slip his tongue too deep, couldn't reach the softer, more sensitive flesh at the center like Bucky wanted.

It wasn't long until Bucky was humping against the bed, whining like a scolded puppy and nearly biting his own lip off in an effort not to shout out. Every once in a while, Steve would smack Bucky's hip or thigh and tell him to be still, but both of them knew he wouldn't -- _couldn't_ , not like this. But he'd try, for a handful of seconds, and Steve would pretend that was close enough to following orders to start biting and sucking and licking again, until Bucky was nearly out of his head with desperation.

"Steve, Stevie, you gotta, please, please Stevie, you gotta put it in me," Bucky whined into the mattress. "Stevie-doll, please, _please_ , I'm gonna, gonna _die_ if you don't give it to me soon."

Steve hummed, and the vibration of Steve's lips against Bucky's skin nearly made him shriek with need. "You need it, Bucky?" Steve said, murmuring low.

"Yes," Bucky hissed. "Stevie, _please_. I was good to you, wasn't I? Wasn't I good to you, Steve? Didn't I treat you good? Took care of you an' everything?"

"Mm, you did, didn't you?" Steve said. His finger circled Bucky's hole gently, pulling back when Bucky tried to push back onto it. "And I wasn't very gracious about it, either, was I?"

Bucky squirmed more, and got a pinch for his trouble. "Don't care," he babbled. "Don't matter none to me, Steve, you know I'd take care of you just the same, no matter what. Just, just please, touch me, please, _please_ , Steve. I need you in me."

"I'll have to find a way to say thanks later," Steve mused, as if to himself. His breath was hot on Bucky's skin. "This, now, this isn't about that at all." His hands tightened on Bucky's cheeks and pulled them apart, right on the edge of too rough, and Bucky went stock-still, eyes going wide under the pillow and then clenching tight shut.

_Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god oh god oh godohgodohgod--_

Steve's tongue slid over Bucky's hole and Bucky sucked in a sharp breath and held it as tight as he could.

He did it again, and again, angle shifting slightly, trying to-- Bucky didn't know what Steve was trying to do, and didn't much care as long as he didn't _stop_.

He didn't. By the time Steve's tongue finally breached Bucky's hole, Bucky was all but sobbing into the mattress, panting for breath and groaning out a litany of pleading and cursing. Steve's mouth was wet and hot, and his tongue couldn't push _quite_ deep enough to satisfy, and Bucky wasn't sure if he was begging for it to stop or go on forever.

And it didn't matter, didn't matter one bit what it was that he wanted, 'cause Steve was gonna give him whatever Steve _wanted_ to give him, and Bucky was gonna take it, and be glad of it. Bucky would gladly march straight into Hell if it meant doing so with Steve's bruises on his skin, with Steve's breath in his mouth, with Steve's spit and come in his ass.

He was lost. Time had ceased to exist, and space, and nothing mattered now but Steve's tongue and hands and breath, occasional murmured words of encouragement, of praise, of love. Bucky was shaking, shivering with need, rocking back into Steve's touch. Both arms were clasped over the pillow, holding it tight around his head because he couldn't stop his noises -- incoherent moaning and whining, now, cut only with soft cries of "please" and "more" and "Steve".

Bucky was up on his knees with no memory of how he'd gotten there, and two of Steve's fingers were pressing into him alongside Steve's tongue. Bucky was rocking back against the intrusion, begging with his whole body.

Steve's tongue was gone, then, but the fingers remained, pressing deeper now, twisting and stretching. "That's it," Steve coaxed. "Let it go, Bucky, let me in. It's all mine, you only have to give it to me."

Bucky shuddered and writhed, and Steve pinched him again until he whined. "In me," Bucky groaned. "Stevie, need you in me."

"No," Steve said, but it was soothing and not angry. "Right now you get my hands. Maybe tonight you can have more, if you're good."

"I'll be good," Bucky gasped. "I'll be good, I'll be so--"

"I know," Steve said, and pushed hard, brushing against that bright spot deep inside. Bucky's cock was leaking. Steve wrapped his other hand around it, spreading that slick fluid around the head, digging his thumb into Bucky's slit until he was keening in anguish, balanced on the razor's edge between pleasure and pain.

"So good to me," Steve crooned, his hands never slowing. "So good for me. Because you're mine."

"Yours," Bucky panted in agreement. "Please."

Steve's fingers pressed deep, sending sparks floating across Bucky's vision, making him rock forward into Steve's hand on his cock. Bucky's breath hitched as Steve's grip tightened, stroking, and Bucky pushed back onto Steve's fingers--

\--and forward into his fist--

\--and back again--

He rocked between Steve's hands, jerky and rough and needy, shoulders and arms shaking, breath coming in gulps and gasps.

"Going to come for me?"

"Please. Steve, please, please let me."

"Such a good boy." Steve sounded calm, like reading a book or starting a sketch instead of taking Bucky apart, disassembling him down to his raw components of sweat and skin and desperate need. "All right, Buck, when you're ready."

As if Steve's word was all Bucky had needed, heat flooded his body and he came, hard, body rigid and jerking, fighting Steve's touch as much as yearning for it.

When Bucky came back to himself, breathing beginning to slow, heart no longer pounding painfully, he found that Steve had already withdrawn, mopped up the mess with a shirt from the washing pile, and was idly tracing patterns on the now-chilled skin of Bucky's back.

"You come back from the moon yet?" Steve said when Bucky rolled onto his back to look at him.

"Yeah," Bucky sighed.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

Steve nodded and leaned down to kiss Bucky's mouth, and Bucky pulled him close to prolong it until Steve finally squirmed free. "Get off," he grumbled. "You need to go now if you're gonna have time to wash up before work."

Bucky nodded and sat up. He could already feel the twinges and aches from the marks Steve had left on him and in him. It was going to be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr as [everyworldneedslove](http://everyworldneedslove.tumblr.com/)!


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